


Perilune

by LettersByTheLake



Category: Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda) - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Gen, Heavy Angst, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Mild torture, Twi-centric, Wolf Twi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25386958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LettersByTheLake/pseuds/LettersByTheLake
Summary: Wolves are killers; that, no one can deny, but he doesn’t do it out of malice or spite like a Hylian might, but simply because he must. He does not hunt the rabbit to hurt the rabbit, but simply because it is his nature. That is the reason, no more, no less.There was a life before this one, he knows it like a dream, but it is inconsequential to now. Today is the day in which he lives and today is of the only import. Once, long ago, he fretted about trivial things such as time, but he cannot remember why and does not wish to know.
Relationships: Time & Twilight (Linked Universe), Twilight & Wild (Linked Universe), Twilight & everyone
Comments: 69
Kudos: 193





	1. A Sheep In Wolf's Clothing

There is a savage joy in the simplicity of life as a wolf, a want for nothing cleanness that comes from a life consisting only of hunting, eating and sleeping. A freedom and marvel of not just the body, but of the very soul. He will catch a rabbit when he is hungry, and he will sleep when he is tired. There are no morals for a wolf, for he is aware, distantly, that he is merely one small thread in the tapestry of life, that a rabbit that is caught and eaten is a thread too, just a smaller one. It is a calming thing for one to be accepting of one’s insignificance.

There was a life before this one, he knows it like a dream, but it is inconsequential to now. Today is the day in which he lives and today is of the only import. Once, long ago, he fretted about trivial things such as time – _Time_ – but he cannot remember why and does not wish to know.

A mouse runs across his path and he flips it into his mouth, flinging it high into the air before _crunching_ it between his powerful jaws. It is so fast the mouse doesn’t even make a sound. The woods are alive today and he is almost satiated. Almost.

There is a deer in a clearing, a small one that instinct tells him will be an easy hunt. He pads silently along the woodland floor, hiding in the shadows, circling the meat as it gnaws on its leaves in the last moments of its life. It is lean and wiry, but he is not in need of a large meal. This will do.

It is only aware of him, the wolf, after he pounces and after it is too late. He kills it quickly; a single mouthful of the neck and it is no longer anything but a meal. The flesh is young and tender and the blood filling his mouth is warm. He feasts on it with no wariness of separate body parts and organs, he rips the meat off the bone with his claws and his maw until he is done, satisfied, and until tiredness grips him like a warm blanket.

And then he sleeps.

And he dreams and they are not the dreams of a wolf but something else, something he was once, long ago…

_“So let me get this straight,” says the one with the grumpy expression and the streak of pink in his hair, “You are all the heroes from the legends, from the stories my uncle used to tell me when I was little?” Link is not at all sure how his hair is that colour, he’s never seen anything quite like it on a Hylian before, but he feels it’s the wrong time to ask._

_“It does seem that way, or at least some of us are,” replies the tall one with the scar across one eye. Link has been watching this man for a while. There is a horrifying familiarity about him that he is honestly just too overwhelmed to think about right now._

_“Yeah that makes zero sense but what the heck, I’ve seen stranger,” says the one with the blue scarf and perfect hair casually._

_“I second that,” the littlest Link with the colourful tunic says that wearily and Link feels for him. He really is tired of being thrown into circumstances like these._

_“I-I don’t understand,” says the darker haired young man with a white cape tied around his shoulders, “why were we brought together?”_

_“Yeah, and can we get back? My little sister’s waiting for me at home!” says the one who looked like he could be no older than fourteen and his eyes are wide, upset. Link doesn’t blame him._

_“And how did this happen? you guys are all from different times, so what was that portal some sort of time travelling thingy?”_

_“And someone explain to me why we all have the same name.”_

_They all start to talk over each other loudly. Link looks over at the Link he knows well, the one he has travelled with for several months and learned that he doesn’t like loud noises, that he gets overwhelmed around too many people. Just as he expects he has started to back away from the group, eyes wide, hands covering his ears. His hair has grown longer since he last saw him, and goodness knows it was long enough then already. Link catches his eye and gives him a reassuring smile. He doesn’t recognise him of course, he put his trust in a wolf, not a Hylian, but the smile seems to calm him at least a little. He doesn’t smile back but his eyes stop darting frantically around looking for an escape._

_“EVERYONE QUIET!” comes a shout and there is something in that voice that makes everyone fall silent immediately and turn to the one-eyed man._

_“It seems none of us know the answer to how and why we’re here, and I know this situation is less than ideal. We will figure it out, we’ll get you back to your families, but for now it’s getting dark and we should make camp for the night. Perhaps things will be clearer in the morning.”_

_They’re panicked and scared, Link can see it in their eyes, but the oldest Link’s words calm them. He brings a certain presence, an assurance that makes them feel like everything is ok. It reminds him a bit of Rusl._

_“There’s an overhang at the cliff a little way along here, it’ll give us shelter from this wind,” he offers, and everyone turns to look at him. He realises he has hardly said a word since they all came together._

_The one-eyed man smiles at him._

_“Perfect, lead the way.”_

_Twilight’s heart warms with pride when he sees Wild free and unwary around the others. He has never seen him this way around people before and to see him happy brings a joy he can’t quite put into words._

_They have been travelling with each other only a couple of weeks but there is a familiarity and comfort among them that reminds Twilight of the people he has grown up with back home. But most importantly they understand each other in a way no one else could. Although they haven’t shared their experiences with each other just yet, they recognise the marks of hardship and the weight they each hold on their shoulders._

_“Twilight, come join us! Wild’s gonna blow up some logs!”_

_Twilight looks fondly at the young sailor for a moment until he processes what he just said._

_“Wait- what do you mean blow up logs?” He swears this kid is going to be the death of him. As he hurries over to where most of the group are huddled, he sees that Wild has indeed set up one of his ‘homemade explosives’ and rigged it to blow up a bundle of freshly cut wood. He is counting down from ten._

_“six, five, four-“_

_“At least stand back you absolute hooligans!” cries Twilight and yes, he is a bit panicked because they are literally standing three feet away from the pile of logs that are going to explode in a few seconds and they are all going to be stabbed with a thousand splinters of wood._

_He starts pushing them all backwards as Wild counts the last seconds and suddenly there is a bang. Twilight stops for a moment to check himself over, and he is really amazed he’s not dead, before checking the others for wounds. Miraculously it seems they have all got away unscathed._

_“Tell me how you have all survived this long?” asks Twilight half angrily and half exasperated and honestly just done with their shit._

_“You worry too much Twi,” says Wild with a shit-eating grin on his face and Twilight internally face-palms._

_“Let’s do it again!” shouts Hyrule._

_Twilight glares at them before mumbling, “fine, but for Hylia’s sake don’t let the old man get wind of this,” because really he’s just happy to see Wild so enthusiastic about something and they’re all bonding and if they get blown up at least they have a reasonable supply of red potions on hand._

Wolf emotions are different from Hylian emotions, a simplistic version of humanity. Where a Hylian may feel frustration and anger and love and sorrow all at once, a wolf will only feel either hunger, tiredness or the need to hunt. Sleep brings comfort, eating cures the twangs of hunger and the hunt brings pleasure and satisfaction.

Wolves are killers, that no one can deny, but he doesn’t do it out of malice or spite like a Hylian might, but simply because he must. He does not hunt the rabbit to hurt the rabbit, but simply because it is his nature. That is the reason, no more, no less. There are no morals for a wolf, no responsibility no accountability for the creatures around it.

There is no reason, he knows that now, there is no reason for anything and that is a liberating thing to know and something of which human minds are incapable of accepting. No matter what, for them, there must be something else, a purpose, a drive, fate, a Goddess. What a silly thing it is to wrap your lives around something that can only leave you regretful and disappointed. It is but the cycle of life, and each person or animal or thing is but a single wave eroding the cliff of time.

It has been long since the warm, sinewy meat of the deer filled his stomach and he must begin hunting again. He is the king of these woods, so it is not a challenge, the animals are quick and agile, but he is strong and light-footed and a born predator.

_Ah, but not born a wolf._

He, the wolf, does not care for what once was or who he wants to be, he just is, and he is proud. He is all rippling muscle and raw strength and there is nothing like being in a body so absolutely and perfectly proficient.

A mountain buck grazes between two trees but it is big, too big and he doesn’t attempt it. He knows what he is capable of and doesn’t take risks, for what is the point if there is an easier way? There are plenty of other meals in these woods if he is quiet and unseen, they practically fall into his jaws.

But another noise grabs his attention and his ears perk as he listens, distracted. His hunger fades away. His duty is calling.

He follows his regular path, visible now from days of wear, his own familiar scent present and comforting. As he treads his own footprints, muzzle low to the ground, other smells fill his wet nose, familiar in a different way. It is the smell of home, or at least the place he once called home, the place that wouldn’t recognise him now and would more likely chase him away with pitchforks and fire.

He sticks to the boundaries of the trees, silent and watchful, but this time he isn’t watching for prey. The distant laughter of children floats through the clearing where the trees turn to buildings and the muddy footpaths turn to cared-for tracks. The smell of baking bread entices him to no end, calls to him, tells him there is a life of comfort right here in front of him if he just chooses to emerge from the place he cowers.

All is peaceful here for now, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Every day he comes here and every day he is filled with terror for what he may find. It is exhausting but necessary. It is his fault after all, his fault that these innocent lives are constantly, unbeknownst to them, in danger. He shakes his head, clearing his mind of these wayward emotions.

A young boy walks out from behind a building. He is small but taller than the wolf remembers, for he does remember, and the memory is too strong to ignore. His yellow-blonde hair is longer, and his face matured ever so slightly, but he still has that same look of shy determination that he kept even in the face of his tormentors. The wolf lets out a whine because he sees something else on his young face now too. A deep sorrow rests in his eyes and the wolf realises it is this more than anything else that ages him. He supposes he must have learned to stick up for himself now, there was no one to protect him from the children of the village and he has bigger threats to worry about, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

The wolf moves to turn away because he should not indulge in the world of men, it is not a world he is part of anymore, but he stops when he hears a whisper on the wind.

_“Bring him back to us, please, we need him. Let him be safe… I miss him so much.”_

It is a whisper so quiet, human ears would not have picked it up. It was meant for the wind, for the trees, for the Goddess herself or anyone who would listen.

The wolf turns and walks away.

_Wind is bleeding and Warriors is freaking out. I mean so is he, but they’ve all seen how Warriors has basically adopted Wind as his little brother. He’s clinging to him like he’s his lifeline but not doing anything to help heal or staunch the flow. The others are still fighting and while the battle is far from over, Twilight feels he is needed here more than in the midst of it._

_“Wars, you have to let him go so I can put pressure on the wound,” he says as calmly as possible with a steadying hand on the Captains shoulder, trying to think what Time would do in this situation. Warriors is usually so calm and strategic and it’s awful to see him like this._

_Eventually he does let the youngest of the group go and Twilight puts pressure on the gaping wound to try and stem the flow of blood the best he can. There’s so much of it and Wind is so pale and small, it’s heartbreaking, but all he can do is wait for the others to defeat their foes and come and help._

_Twilight has never been so happy to see anyone when Hyrule eventually runs over and puts his hands on Wind to begin his weird healing magic. Hyrule may be a quiet presence in the group but Twilight doesn’t know what they would all do without him._

_Soon the bleeding has stopped and so has the battle, and they congregate nervously around the young hero whose breathing is now even and steady. Hyrule looks dazed but otherwise fine. A moment later, Wind coughs and opens his eyes sleepily and Warriors, who has been sitting in quiet shock ever since Twilight shooed him away, crawls up and wraps him in a huge hug that’s all scarf and love._

_Sky joins next, wrapping his arms around the two of him in that motherly way that he somehow manages to pull off. Wild joins next and Twilight follows. It is warm and comforting, especially when he feels arms wrap around him too and then they are all a big bundle of comfort and safety on the edge of a battlefield in which their enemies lie dead and bleeding. Despite everything, Twilight feels totally safe in the arms of those he loves._

He finds a rabbit and catches it easily. He gouges the meat, the bones crunching satisfyingly in his jaws and it allows him to forget and give in to the wolf hindbrain once more. His tail starts to wag slightly, and once he is done, he curls up in a hollow in some tree roots for a nap, cleaning himself of the rabbit’s insides that are sticky on his fur. He is happy, satiated.

After a while, he is awoken by a noise. He perks up and hones his senses, but something is not right because the animals in these woods have long since learned to muffle their footsteps and quieten their cries and this sound is careless, unwitting. This something is new, unaware of the danger lying just beyond the trees and he, the wolf, almost regrets its innocence.

_Almost, because wolves do not feel regret._

He creeps along the decaying woodland floor and a waft of something almost familiar hits his sensitive nose. There is a memory there that he quashes down to the depths of his animal heart, but it clings to the back of his throat and chokes him like a small animal bone would. It is more than one animal, he realises as he draws closer (he should run away but curiosity burns like forest fire), in fact, there is a whole pack of them. Hylians, he realises, no other beast smells quite like that, both a cleanliness that rubs his nose raw masking an underlying filth that can never be quite scoured.

Hylians are not prey, the woodland animals know to stay away from them at all costs, but there is something that draws him to these ones in particular. A strange feeling in his chest, a distinctly un-wolfish feeling, like a little piece of his soul is trying to break free from the cage it is trapped in. There is laughter, they are happy, and for some reason that makes him happy too.

He is skirting the edge of their camp, quiet and unseen, just another shadow on a moonless night. He catches a glimpse of a fire through the trees, warm and bright and welcoming; the wolf in him tells him to stay away, to get out, that fires and Hylians mean danger. But there is that other part of him, the part that seems to have emerged tonight, that draws him closer, as close as he can get without being seen or heard.

When he sees them, his heart stops.

There are seven of them and they are laughing, all of them laughing with tears streaming down their faces. It is a strange laugh, not quite joyful but rather a release of emotions. It is like glass, fragile and in danger of shattering completely. It must be few and far between, times like these, but that only makes it more profound, like a ray of sunshine in monsoon season, the first snowdrop peeking through the snow with the promise of spring. It is an acknowledgement of each other, that they have broken beyond repair, but they’ll get through it. They are a comradery of men.

The wolf is frozen, lost in a time that was good, a time that isn’t now. This is his old pack. This is his old pack and they have moved on without him, just as they should.

There are no words for the loneliness he feels.

The wolf in him scoffs, it doesn’t understand these feelings, these deep, meaningful and oh so necessary moments of life that are few and far between but so very precious. The caged Hylian in him howls to be free. He knows they feel this way, he knows that despair, that hopelessness, that loss that is so overwhelming, nothing can ever be ok again. It drowns each day with such deep sorrow that the normal moments are no longer normal, every waking second trying to avoid that deep pit of despair that will never let you go once it ensnares you. He knows this because he has felt it.

Wolves are not meant to be alone. They have a pack to fight for and hunt for and protect. Lone wolves are scarcely seen and they don’t really live at all. He feels the pull of his old pack, he is so close he could almost touch them. If he emerged, could he-

A stick snaps beneath his paw and he freezes for a second, fire reflected in his glossy blue eyes and then he runs, dashing through the trees and leaving the cries of _“A wolf! I saw a wolf!”_ behind him. He scampers at full speed through the woods, gracefully weaving through trees and over fallen logs, he runs and runs until the scent, that familiar, sweet scent is gone from his nose, until his predatory ears can no longer pick up the sounds of their confusion, their- their hope?

He races against his beating heart which is pounding in his ears so fast it has merged into one singular sound of distress until he finally collapses under the canopy of the thinning trees. He chokes into the dirt and lets out a growl to ward of any animals that might be near. Then he tilts his head back and _howls_ , a deep, mournful sound that carries on the wind and makes birds scatter from the canopies and the creatures of the woodland floor tense with wariness.

It cuts through the haze of warm summer air and reaches the ears of the folk from a nearby village where a swordsman tightens his clutch on his young son’s shoulder and lifts his head ever so slightly in what is possibly hope, before shaking his head and continuing his walk back to his house for the night. The sound reaches the far ends of the wood, ringing through the trees, crying through the twilight until it falls on the ears of a group who until this moment were sitting silently, eating a frankly rather dodgy meal, just like they have been every evening ever since one fateful day.

The eldest of them all, one who has called himself Time now for many months, almost drops his bowl of brown-grey sludge and watches as Four leaps from where he was sitting on the ground.

“It’s him, I told you it was him!”

“We don’t know that, there are probably loads of wolves in these woods,” says Legend, although he too has perked up. However his expression is slightly less excited and more wary than Four’s, the anger that Time knows has been close to the surface recently shining through.

Time has to agree with Legend, he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he shoots a look towards the member of the group who is sitting, hunched into himself as usual, just out of the firelight and away from them all. Two turquoise eyes are peering out from the ball he has curled into and stares intently into the darkness of the woods in the direction the howl had come from. Time is pretty sure this is the most response Wild has given to anything in weeks.

“You’re right,” he says, putting aside his own feelings as usual and trying to make his voice as neutral and calm as possible, “we don’t know whether it’s him or not and there’s nothing we can do for now, that wolf sounds like it was pretty far away. I suggest we all get a good night’s sleep and a couple of us can go and search for him in the morning.”

He is under no illusions that any of them are going to sleep but he says it for reassurance. He can’t have them wandering aimlessly in the dark.

“I’ll go,” says Warriors immediately and Four adds a “Me too.”

“I’ll go as well,” says Time because really there is no way he _isn’t_.

Legend lets out an angry huff but does no more than puts his head down and continues playing with the sludge in his bowl.

Time shoots another look at the former cook, the former wild child but he has curled himself away in his little protective ball again. Time sighs, he really can’t take much more of this. But like he has done his entire life, he suppresses the swirling storm of emotions roiling inside him and orders them all to bed.


	2. Teeth, Claws and a Heart of Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here is chapter 2! (finally...) 
> 
> Just a warning, there is a lot of blood and slightly graphic injury in this one.
> 
> I don't have a schedule to update and I'm writing each chapter as I go along so it's not necessarily going to be a regular thing. I have everything all planned out but my life is very busy at the moment so I will just update when I get round to it. 
> 
> Other than that, I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for your comments and kudos on the last chapter they are unbelievably appreciated <3

_“You’re the wolf?” Wild is staring at him dumbfounded and Twilight is worried this might just be the tipping point that ends their friendship forever, “You- you’re… but…” he stutters out, his eyes wide. Words have never come naturally to him, Twilight knows, he used to spend hours working on his speech when it was just Wild and him, the mysterious wolf. It is times like these where he can start to see the old Wild through the cracks of his person, the Wild who was alone and lost and confused._

_“I’m so sorry Wild, I should’ve told you, I-“_

_He stops when Wild runs towards him and throws his arms around his waist in a huge hug. Moments of physical contact with Wild when Twilight isn’t in wolf form are few and far between but that isn’t why this act of comfort is shocking._

_“Thank you,” says Wild to Twilight’s profound astonishment, “You made me not feel so alone.”_

_Twilight smiles, tears threatening to blur his vision and he wraps his arms around the smaller Hylian fondly._

_“It was an honour.”_

He, the wolf, wakes to the smell of dirt and a tight feeling in his chest. He feels the façade of this life he lives in the woods crumbling around him and it makes him _angry._ It makes him furious that he can’t just be left to live the simple life he wants, the lonely life he deserves.

He knows his old pack will move on eventually, they always do, but the emotions they have brought up, the distinctly un-wolfish emotions, threaten to overwhelm him. He can smell their faint scent in the air but he’s not sure if it’s just his mind playing tricks.

He is far away from his den and he slept out in the open in his emotional state rather than finding some shelter. Stupid, he is so exposed out here. Things like this are why emotions are bad, things like these just show, emotions can kill.

He trots over to a nearby river and dips his muzzle in, the cool water grounding him as he laps it up. The wild does wonders for clearing the cobwebs, for cooling his aching mind.

He can’t get that image out of his head. The seven of them laughing that broken, fragile laugh, so different from the hearty banter they used to share. Seven. And even though he didn’t get a proper look, he knows which one is missing. He did that. They lost one of their own because he, the Hylian, was a coward, weak and selfish turning on his family the moment things got difficult.

But he is not that person anymore. He is the wolf now, the king of the woods, the silent protector of the village, he has a purpose, a duty and it is good.

He hunts that morning, not because he is hungry but because he needs the distraction, needs to give into that wolfish instinct that is his reality now. He does not think about the group of Hylians on the other side of the woods, the side he is most definitely staying away from. Their laughter and their sorrow do not echo around his head while he pads through the undergrowth and he is not imagining their scent wafting across the breeze.

_Wait._

He stops suddenly to sniff the air and his blood runs cold. He isn’t imagining that, it’s them, they’re here and they’re close. He’d been so distracted he hadn’t even noticed them approaching, and now he has stopped, he can hear them. Someone is calling his name, his old name, something he hasn’t been called in a long, long time.

_“Twilight!”_

A thousand emotions go through his mind because they don’t _know_ , they don’t know how that name rips him from all that he is, all that he has tried to be for them. His body unfreezes in an instant and he is running once more, running like the coward he is, away from his problems away from _them_. But he knows truly he is doing what needs to be done to keep them safe. This was never about him; selfishness is what got him here in the first place. No, he was getting away from them for their own safety, for their own good but if he truly thinks about it, he would love nothing more than to go-

His leg catches on something on the forest floor and he trips, falling face-first into the ground. The pain comes a split second later. His leg burns like nothing he has ever felt, a sudden, intense agony that leaves him breathless for a moment like his lungs are encased in concrete.

He adjusts his position slowly so he can view the damage, small whimpers escaping his throat all the while. They only get louder as he sees what has happened. His front right paw is stained red, the fur matted with blood. A bear trap is clamped over it and he’s sure one of the prongs has stabbed right through the skinny limb. To see the damage in all its gruesome glory seems to make the pain ten times worse and he can’t help the full-on whining that escapes from his chest.

He wills himself to shut up because they’ll find him, but it just hurts so goddessdamn much and he doesn’t know how he’s going to get out of this situation, the bear clamp is so strong around the bone. His breathing picks up in panic, the breathless whines of a dog that is meant to be the hunter, not the hunted, but he can hear someone shuffling closer above it. He isn’t sure if it’s one of his old pack or an animal that would eat him alive and he’s not entirely certain which one he would prefer. He curses himself for getting into this situation. He knows these woods and he knows where there are traps; in another life, he was the one to put them down.

His nose is full of the scent of blood, his blood, and his senses are overwhelmed with terror. He can hear the footsteps coming closer now and they are distinctly human, and he can’t shut off this incessant whining from his throat. He tries to move, to just somehow rip his leg free from the trap because surely that’s still better than what would happen if he stayed, trapped. But the agonising jolt that follows sends paralysing pulses through his body and it’s all he can do not to downright howl.

A twig snaps behind him and suddenly all his focus is on the Hylian standing not five feet away. A red tunic, blue hat and stripe of pink in his blonde hair are familiar enough to send a different type of agony coursing through his veins, but his expression certainly is not. Because right now the ever-surly Hero of Legend looks absolutely stunned.

It takes a while for the wolf to realise the low, threatening growl is coming from him, but he doesn’t try to cut it off. Perhaps he can get the Hylian to leave him, perhaps if he acts exactly like the wolf he is, the Hylian will go away.

Apparently, it takes this long for the Hylian to come to his senses because it is only then that his expression twists from shock and surprise to deep, deep anger. It is a much more accustomed expression on him but the familiarity does nothing to slow the wolf’s racing heart.

“You,” he spits, “you have nerve coming anywhere near us you cold-blooded murderer.” The wolf has the sense to think that’s a little unfair considering he’s the one who came to look for him, but in this predicament, he can hardly complain. He has witnessed the full height of Legend’s anger and hatred before, seen him use it to fell hordes of enemies on the battlefield, to fiercely protect those he loves and to be on the receiving end of it is not something he wants to experience ever again.

“You listen here,” Legend continues in a voice that is hardly more than a whisper but holds a deadly venom, “the others are looking for you and for some reason only the Goddess knows, they _actually_ want to find you. Perhaps they think you could come back to the group and everything will be fine and dandy again, but let me tell you, _that is not going to happen._ You get the hell away from us, and if I ever see you again, I will gut you.”

The wolf lets out a whine because the words hurt in a different and more intense way to the bear trap and he has no doubt that Legend would absolutely gut him if he saw him again and is reasonably surprised he hasn’t right now. He makes a sound that he hopes the hero will understand as assent before looking down at his leg.

Legend lets out a growl to rival his own.

“I’ll get you out but only because I need you away from my family. Don’t think I wouldn’t be very happy leaving you here to bleed out slowly.”

He approaches warily and goes about freeing the wolfs leg from the metal teeth of the contraption. He is not careful, and he is not mindful of the wolf’s pain, he prises it open with force and leverage from his sword and as soon as the wolf removes his leg, it snaps shut once more.

Now the pressure is gone from the wound the pain noticeably dulls but the blood still drips and flows onto the woodland floor and the puddle of blood already pooled around the trap shows how much he has lost. He feels woozy, lightheaded, and he immediately bends down to lick the tear in his fur.

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” There is something slightly broken in the way Legend shouts that and the wolf recollects how Legend always did use anger as a mask for his true pain.

The wolf distantly remembers the happiness to be part of a group so close that they knew things like that, who could trust each other with their lives and did every day. Those moments seem more precious than anything as Legend is raising his sword and his eyes are screaming bloody murder and the wolf is _terrified._ He yelps and scrambles away, tripping slightly as he forgets to raise his injured paw off the ground. He runs and runs and doesn’t look back.

It is only when he reaches the edge of the wood and looks out over the river that he stops, panting, and lies down in the dirt. The weather has been dry for weeks and the ground is packed hard, but the rushing of the river calms him as he tries to catch his breath.

His leg is a mangled mess of torn flesh and he licks the blood away the best he can, the sharp metallic taste overwhelming his other senses. After a while it stops bleeding so much but _Goddess_ is he tired, he feels like he could sleep for days. He hopes that’s more from the trauma of nearly dying and seeing someone he hoped he would never have to face again than it is from blood loss, but he’s not so sure.

He is safe here, the wide fields stretch for miles before him and he trusts his senses to wake him at any sign of trouble from the woods, so he lets himself fall into a restless slumber.

_Twilight watches in concern as his mentor rummages frantically through his bag. The respect and admiration he has formed in such a short time for the man they have accepted as their leader is only part of what makes their connection so deep. His unwavering steadiness and strength are unrivalled, and he is so incredibly proud to call him his mentor. It is the reason he is so worried now as desperation overrules his ordinarily steadfast stoicism._

_“Time? What’s wrong?” he asks seriously because if Time is like this then surely something terrible must have happened._

_“There’s a box, I can’t find it- I need to find it!” He is panicking Twilight can’t lie that it doesn’t startle him to hear his voice so shaky._

_“Hey, it’s okay,” he says calmly, resting his hand on his shoulder, “we’ll find it, what does it look like?”_

_Time stops rummaging and takes a deep breath before turning to face the ranch hand, seemingly forcing himself to calm down._

_“Um, it’s a small green box with silver around the edge,” he says, his voice betraying how deeply this is hurting him._

_“Ok, you keep looking around here and I’ll go and speak to Legend. You know how our stuff tends to… congregate around him,” he says with a small smile that Time returns with a twitch of his mouth._

_He makes his way through the woods to where Legend is telling a story to Hyrule. The young traveller is listening intently, a look of awe on his face when Twilight interrupts._

_“Hey, ‘Rule, Legend, I was just wondering if you have something of Time’s? It’s a small green and silver box.”_

_“Why do you assume I have it?” snaps Legend defensively and Twilight’s heart drops._

_“So you haven’t seen it?”_

_“No, I have it right here, but you shouldn’t just assume these things Twi.” He rummages through his bag for a second before producing the box in question. It is indeed very small and made of dyed leather, an intricate silver pattern painted onto the sides._

_Twilight shakes his head with a laugh and shares an exasperated look with Hyrule who looks bemused._

_“What was even the point of stealing that?” Hyrule asks incredulously._

_“It wasn’t stealing, I was going to give it back, I was just interested. The old man has more secrets than I do items in my bag. And I was right to be curious, you’ll never guess what’s inside.” He smiles mischievously._

_“You opened it?!”_

_“Obviously. It seems there’s more he’s not telling us than-“_

_“Stop!” shrieks Hyrule covering his ears with his hands, “I don’t want to know! If Time hasn’t told us, I don’t want to know!”_

_Legend rolls his eyes and Twilight frowns at him._

_“You shouldn’t just go through people’s stuff Leg, you more than anyone understands the need for privacy.”_

_Legend narrows his eyes and then nods._

_“Fine, I won’t tell anyone, but everyone’s going to find out eventually anyway.”_

_Twilight shakes his head again and leaves them to it, knowing full well Legend is going to be whispering conspiratorially with Warriors later but accepting there is nothing he can do to stop him._

_When he gets back, Time is slumped with his back leaning against a log looking absolutely miserable._

_“Hey, old man, guess what I found,” he says waving the box in the air. Time’s eyes light up immediately with relief._

_“Thank the Goddess.”_

_Twilight chuckles and lowers himself to sit beside him as Time cradles the box in his lap as if it was a teeny tiny child._

_“Sorry I freaked out,” he says._

_“That’s ok, I can see it means a lot to you.” Twilight is of course curious about what might be inside, but he knows better than to push for information. It’s just not something you do with the current company. But he doesn’t need to quash his inquisitiveness much longer because Time removes the lid of the box, revealing the small item inside._

_“Is that…? Wait, does this mean… No way- YOU’RE HITCHED, THE OLD MAN’S HITCHED!”_

_Time laughs as his voice steadily grows in excitement as the implications of the simple silver wedding band sitting in the box slowly dawn on him._

_“Shhh, the others don’t know,” he says but he is chuckling at his protégé’s reaction._

_“Who is it? Is it Zelda? You said you were only friends! I can’t believe you haven’t told me! What’s her name? Or his name, I mean you haven’t even mentioned-“_

_“Pup! calm down!” he laughs, and Twilight looks at him apologetically._

_“Her name is Malon, we met when we were very young and got married just last year.”_

_Twilight smiles incredulously._

_“I can’t believe you’re married,” he says settling down, “I mean, I hadn’t even thought about that. For us I mean. I just try to get through each day as it comes but to think there could be a life after all this…”_

_Time ruffles his hair in the way he would only let Time do._

_“Just because we have this life doesn’t mean we can’t have a happy ending.”_

_Twilight looks at him and he is suddenly very sad, desperation crawling up his chest for different reasons. Because really this just confirms his suspicions and he knows more than Time does that there are no happy endings. That Malon and Time will have a happy spell and have children and then everything will go disastrously wrong because it is inevitable and fate doomed this man, this wonderful, strong, loving man, years ago. The unfairness of it all is a crushing weight on his chest._

_“You’ll find love again Pup, I know you will,” Time says softly, mistaking his expression for something else, because really there’s so much sorrow to choose from._

_Twilight sighs and hunches in on himself a little._

_“I hope so.”_

He was wrong. His senses didn’t wake him in time, and he opens his eyes to a man kneeling down in front of him, a man he desperately doesn’t want to be there.

“Twilight?” he says, his voice shaky and not like it should be, not how he remembers it.

“Pup, please, you need to come back with us.”

The wolf growls at the words and stands with his injured paw off the ground. It has stopped bleeding now but the ground where he has been lying is slick and dark with the metallic fluid. He is dizzy but now is not the time to be weak.

“Pup, you’re hurt, and you need to come with us, I know it’s difficult but maybe… maybe we could forgive you.”

The voice has become calm and steady now, like the man he knew, but the words don’t make sense to him. Forgiveness is not something he expects, and it is not something he wants. He turns away, the growl in his throat low and continuous as he wills him to leave him alone.

The man sighs and his voice becomes firmer.

“I’m not leaving you here. The team is broken, and they need you back. _I_ need you back,” he adds quietly.

The wolf does not make any indication that he has heard and continues to walk away. The man stands up behind him.

“You _owe_ us.”

The words are simple but the way he says it is complicated. There are worlds of meaning and memories and emotions behind them. His growl turns into a whine because that is _unfair,_ so unfair to do this now, but he just continues limping into the woods as fast as he can with his bloody leg.

And then he hears a shout from nearby and curses himself because how could he not notice the entire pack approaching?

They say something about a portal, and the wolf feels relief because that means they’ll be gone, hopefully for good this time. But he feels a large hand grab him by the scruff of his neck and try to lift him up. He squirms and claws and gnashes his teeth, trying desperately to rip and tear the flesh that has captured him. He knows where the man will take him and he is not going to them, he is not going to be forced to endure the agony of facing the people he broke beyond repair.

“Twilight, please, stop this, I’m not going to leave you here!”

He snarls and bites and scratches with renewed adrenaline, his wounded leg forgotten as he tries to force himself out of this grip.

Then there is a sharp pain in his skull and the world goes dark.

_“Put the knife down, Pup.”_

_“No. I-I can’t, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”_

_“You don’t have to do this we can find a way, like we always do, just let Hyrule go.”_

_“I’ve tried everything, this is the only way. It’s the only way.”_

_He once told this man he would give his life for him. This is the man who dedicates his life to protecting the boys he calls family. This man is the reason he is alive today, the reason any of them are. And he is here like always, calm and steady, but this time he cannot help._

_“Pup… Link, you know this isn’t the way, we’ll figure it out together, just let him go.”_

_“You don’t understand, Time.” He is weeping for the unfairness of it all, for this impossible situation, for all that he’s lost and all that he will lose._

_“Then help me understand. Talk to me. Remember when we used to do that? Talk?”_

_He does remember that, but those days are long past. Those times were for the innocent with troubles that meant far less than his do now. The silent, pleading eyes around him will never understand that this is necessary. That every little tiny decision a hero makes, no matter how insignificant it may seem at the time, every single choice could make or end the world. He dared to love openly once and he loved them, and they loved him and there is the part of him that still does, that yearns to choose a different ending. But he has worked hard to lock that part of him deep, deep inside himself, behind his ever-darkening soul._

_“Times have changed,” he mutters, and he slashes his knife across his victim’s throat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just... I am sorry.


	3. Windows to the Soul

_A young boy wanders lost and alone in the woods and he is found and raised by a village. They smooth out the traumas that life dealt him too early and show him more love and affection than he could have even hoped from his own parents._

_He doesn’t think he will ever be able to repay them for all that they do for him. They saved him and sheltered him from a world that seems to give nothing but cruelty, and he never once takes it for granted. He does what he can, the jobs around the village and the tasks they ask of him which he could never refuse. They start to rely on him, and it is a good feeling. He has a purpose, people need him, the children look up to him and the adults care for him. They are always saying they couldn’t live without him._

_He never intends to leave, but fate says he must. The village is left to fend for itself._

Out of the darkness come voices. They float through the wolf’s consciousness like cool water, soothing the burning in his aching mind. They are nonsensical and distorted, words muddled and blurry, but the timbres come from a time that was happy and familiar.

But then they grow louder, and words start to form, and they are angry, like fire. They are words like _‘traitor’_ and _‘hate’_ and _‘unforgivable’_ , and in a rush, the calmness of before turns to a cacophony of confusion.

He, the wolf, lies there and listens, each word spat from familiar mouths like knives to his heart.

“What the fuck were you thinking bringing him here anyway?”

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Maybe he hit him round the head hard enough he won’t wake up?”

“Take that back, you don’t mean it!”

“I don’t need to remind you what he did, I’m not just going to pretend like nothing happened!”

“I’m not asking you to, but please, there must be more to this… there just must be.”

“There is nothing he could say that would make me forgive him. Nothing.”

They seem distracted in their arguing; perhaps he could walk away without them noticing. He opens his eyes to slits and sure enough there is his old pack, their figures towering over him. He used to be up there with them, proud to be amongst those who had equal and unrelenting respect for one another, but here he is now, lying in the dirt, small and ragged and alone.

He shuffles a little in the dry mud and they don’t seem to notice, so he moves a bit more. He feels his heartbeat in his wounded paw, erratic and frightened. The injury is bandaged now, coiled neatly by a careful hand and it smells clean and fresh.

Mindful of his injury, he slowly raises to three paws, keeping his body low to the ground. The arguing still echoes in the background letting him know he has not yet been noticed. It is a strange feeling, both being the centre of attention but also being utterly disregarded.

He manages to slink beneath their notice and limps out of the circle of fire, away from the incessant arguing he has caused. It is suffocating and warnings of danger clang in his ears, echoing of his need to escape. Cliffs surround him, great smooth stone bluffs that he cannot climb, that lock him in like a coop. His heart rate picks up again in panic, the fluttering distress of a caged animal. He is caged in more ways than one.

There is an opening to the side, a path through the cliffs, but he sees it too late. He hears shouts as the Hylians realise the object of their suffering has escaped and they clamber to reach him before he can run.

_Let me go, why won’t you just let me go?_

Only a few hours ago this would have been cubs play, getting away would be as easy as hunting a diseased rabbit, but he is holding back pathetic whimpers every time he presses his injured paw to the ground and he is so, so tired both from blood loss and stress.

Time reaches him first of course, a rough grab to the scruff of his neck and it is all he can do not to go limp and give in to whatever they have in store. He bites and claws weakly at the human flesh, more to show aggression than to escape, before he is thrown harshly to the ground. Pain flares like fire up his leg.

“Twilight, stay,” he spits harshly like he’s commanding a dog.

_But is that not what you are now? What you’ve become?_

“You owe us that much. We- we never got an explanation.” His voice cracks slightly on that last bit and his human eyes are wet with tears. He is glad he does not feel those things anymore. Wolves don’t shed tears.

He looks up at those standing tall before him and their names come to him as his eyes flicker between each one. Warriors, a haunted look on the face he usually keeps so carefully cool. Wind, worrying his bottom lip where the skin is already torn to shreds. Four, so small yet so determined in his gaze and Time, the epitome of a hero, standing tall and proud even in his distress.

He wishes he did not know these people; he wishes he could walk away and forget about them forever, but he tried that and here he is now, finally facing the reaper. But what _does_ he owe them? What does he owe anyone? He never asked for this life, he never asked to be a hero. He could have lived out the rest of his life in those peaceful woods, perfectly content in the moment. He could have lived happily his whole life in a small village of no significance to the world, herding goats and building a family of his own.

“We’ll listen to you, Twi,” pleads Warriors, his hair still flawless, his armour still polished to perfection despite the deadened glint in his eyes, “we’ll hear your side of the story, just turn back to your real form and we can work it out.” Wind snaps his head around and glares at the Captain though ultimately keeps his silence.

A growl rumbles through him before he can even think to respond, a guttural sound that is utterly instinctive. Warriors looks startled and the wolf can’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction. He has worked hard to give in to the wilderness and he is not the person they know; he never will be again. _This_ is his real form now.

“Maybe he can’t change,” offers Wind. His voice has deepened slightly from the sound he knows so well, and he is taller too. His eyes hold a little more seriousness, a little less of that mischievous spark they all used to melt in the face of.

And maybe he has a point. Maybe the ability to change his form has faded away with his ability to love and sacrifice. Maybe that part of him really is gone forever just as he had hoped for so many weeks. He doesn’t know and he isn’t going to try.

His ears twitch at the sorrowful sigh Time releases as he turns away from them once more, and to his dismay, he feels his heart drop. There was a time once when he would have risked life and limb not to experience that feeling. Time’s disappointment would make him both cower and strive to be the very best he could be. He feels the shadow of that now and he desperately tries to ignore it. It can’t be anything but the remains of the bond they had between them, the leftovers of a friendship broken beyond repair, but it is there, and he rages war within his mind to be rid of it.

They let him limp away this time. It didn’t take long for them to give up and he is grateful. He will go now, make a life in this unknown world, strive to harden his stone heart to the point where none of this matters once again.

He is halfway exited the cliffed gorge when his downturned eyes latch onto the worn brown boots that block his path. His eyes travel further upwards, taking in the green tunic and brown undergarments with resigned disbelief, not ever daring to hope. But the wide eyes and unruly hair are unmistakable, though he still checks once, twice before he lets that something go that has been weighing him down like rocks in water, before he finally lets himself breathe.

In front of him stands the boy whose blood he had dripping through his fingers only months ago.

_There is a small crack in the thick stone wall that lets in the most minuscule amount of daylight. It is not enough to see by but enough to assure him which way is up and to keep him from going completely insane. Every day he focuses on that hairline of light, stares at it until the line is permanently burned into his retinas so when the sun goes down and the darkness encapsulates him, it is still there, the memory of light, wherever he looks._

_The cell is small, smaller than the one he was kept in so long ago when the wolf was a new and unwelcome curse to his life, and for all that he has searched blindly, he hasn’t yet found a door or an entrance. Water trickles from the ceiling from an unknown source and he avoided it for days before realising it was drink it or die. The taste was metallic and scummy but at that point it was the least of his worries. The ground is hard, cold stone like the walls except it is carpeted with a thick layer of dust and dirt and something sticky in one corner that he stays away from. He has felt around every nook and crevasse for hours upon hours but found nothing. It was only a couple of days ago that he gave up._

_So now he just sits and stares at the only thing to stare at because what else is there to do until the others come to rescue him?_

_It is almost a relief when he hears heavy footsteps through the dead silence and the wall opens up despite there being no hinges or cracks to forewarn a door. The light is blinding after so long in the dark and he covers his eyes, his plans of attack momentarily forgotten. He knows it is not his friends, he knows their footsteps like he knows the sound of their voices, but as his eyes adjust slightly, he can make out a large silhouette of a man who must be at least twice the size of him, and the heavy black boots of what Wild calls a Blademaster._

_A stale loaf of burned bread is dropped onto the filthy floor in front of him and he is so ravenous that the lack of dignity in picking it up and shovelling it down hardly even crosses his mind. After it has gone and it sits like a rock in his empty stomach, Twilight once again becomes aware of the Yiga Blademaster standing unmoving in the doorway, watching._

_Twilights eyes have adjusted to the light now and he stands up on wobbly legs, teeth bared and eyes glaring, trying desperately to stand tall against the giant of a man before him. Someone took the shadow crystal, he figured that out on the first night, and he feels naked without it. For something he resented for so long it is strange how instrumental it has become for his peace of mind. But they took it and so he is going to have to fight them without the wolf._

_He readies himself. Now is as good a moment as he is going to get, and he knows he can defeat the Blademaster. He remembers Wild’s stories about how he defeated almost the entire clan trying to get a weird ball or something and that was on his own, only a little time before Twilight joined him on his adventure._

_Heart thumping like battle drums he launches forward immediately into his well-practiced, self-taught hand-to-hand combat. He sweeps at the Blademaster’s feet, aware that the only way he is going to beat him is to use his size against him, but his legs are unmoving, stuck like a stone carving to the ground. He throws a jab and then another and then a side kick, but they too do nothing to move the beast of the man before him. His expression has barely even changed, and Twilight realises much too late that this is no ordinary opponent._

_In a sudden move, too brisk for a man of his size, the Blademaster grabs Twilight’s arms and effortlessly pins them behind his back. Twilight’s breath is taken away by how effortless it is for the Clan member, there have been few times in his life where he has felt as helpless as this. The man restraining him still makes no noise, as if Twilight had made no effort to escape at all and drags him out of the cell that has been a home for almost a week, and down a dark corridor._

_Twilight pays attention to his surroundings, scouting for an escape or something that may help him in any way. There are no windows and Twilight wonders whether they are underground, but there are several doors set into the wood panelling of the long, cold corridor. None of them are open. There is a faint smell beneath the musky dampness too, a very distinct odour that Twilight can’t quite place at first but soon links it to bananas. It is strange and out of place here._

_They only stop when they reach one of the doors nearing the end of the corridor and the Blademaster opens and then shuts it behind them, pushing Twilight into a small room which nears on empty. Except Twilight wishes it is completely empty because the scene that is laid out in front of him clearly could only be for one purpose._

_A chair sits in the middle, sturdy and wooden with heavy armrest and a square back, plainly not made for comfort. The only other thing in the room is a table to one side with several nasty looking implements covering its surface, none of which Twilight could name but he has no doubt as to what they are used for. He feels his heart rate pick up slightly in dread of what he knows is coming._

There have been many times in Twilight’s life where his reality has been shaken; countless times in which the world he knows has been torn from beneath his feet and he has had to rearrange his mind, his entire being, to accommodate something of which he would never have dreamed of before.

He feels it now. It’s like an earthquake, hitting him so hard he struggles to distinguish which way is up. Now, in a world he had given up on, where there is nothing left for him, he feels just a glimmer of hope.

Hyrule is what he remembers. His sharp eyes follow the curves of his figure, the creases and folds of his clothes and those wide, innocent eyes. He is looking, he realises, for something that marks the trauma he inflicted not so long ago. He avoids the pale skin of his neck for as long as he can, but his eyes inevitably trail there.

The thick, white, crescent-shaped scar does not shock him, but instead leaves a hollowness in his gut that is all-consuming. Where perhaps once he would have begged for forgiveness, shed tears of anguish or held the young boy close to his chest, now he merely regards him silently; icy, empty hands clawing at his heart.

This is the impossibility he never dared dream and he barely believes it is not just a conjuring of his own mind. He remembers the seven of them sitting at that log fire only a night ago and a wolf’s sharp eyes do not play tricks. Yet before him stands a contradiction to everything he thought he knew.

Hyrule’s expression does not change as he brings his hands up and Twilight fights not to flinch at the beating he knows is in his future. But as the long seconds draw out, he slowly realises that is not the traveller’s intention. He is making shapes with his hands, fluid, purposeful motions that bring words to the front Twilight’s mind before he even comprehends they are translations. The language is a little different to the one he knows, the one that Rusl taught him during those dark days when he was young and terrified and loved, and all capability of speech had been traumatised out of him. But it is similar enough to understand the basics.

_I forgive you._

_I forgive you,_ he says over and over with a desperation in his eyes telling him it _needs_ to be understood. It is all Twilight can do to stand on his three legs as a tsunami of emotions suddenly crashes through him. It’s like a dam has burst inside him and all the pain, all the guilt, overtakes him at once as he follows Hyrule’s hands over and over in the same pattern that surely, he can’t mean.

_I forgive you, I forgive you, I-_

“NO!” comes a cry, snapping them both out of this cycle of delusion. Legend stands there like an animal ready to pounce, eyes wild and hair sticking up in every direction. There are signs Twilight has learned to perceive in a split second, those actions that could mean the difference between life and death; the clenching of the fists, the stance of the legs, the glint in the eyes that says a predator is ready to kill. Legend has the mannerisms of a caged animal ready to fight to the gruesome death, like he has already lost but he will do anything just to inflict one last dose of pain onto those who wronged him.

“Get _away_ from him!” The words come raw from his throat as though all the pain inside him is coming up with them, hoarse and prickly like pine needles.

Hyrule turns to face him, tears in his eyes which beg the words he can’t seem to communicate, and he brings his hands up once more.

_Please don’t, we need him back._

Why won’t he speak?

“You _can’t_ forgive him- you just can’t.” Some of the others gather round now, ghosts of inside jokes and friendship flashing through Twilight’s mind as he notices each one. They keep their distance. As they should.

He searches too for the one into whom he poured so much compassion and determination, who he watched grow into the man he was always destined to be right before his eyes. His protégé. He does not wish for forgiveness from him, he does not wish forgiveness from any of them, but oh, what he would give to see him again. But he is not there, and his eyes slide back to the now, the current issue, whose hands form words so gracefully and practised.

 _Follow me,_ he says before facing an outstretched palm flat to the others, signalling them not to accompany him. And who is Twilight to deny him? He lowers his muzzle to the ground in assent before following the traveller away from the others and down the pathway out of the gorge. Hyrule is like the calm in a storm of emotions, walking ethereally, back turned, knowing and trusting that Twilight will follow and the others will stay.

Much has changed within this group of friends, of course it has, but there is a new, undying respect towards this young boy now. Twilight is amazed at how these mighty heroes so readily acquiesce to the simple traveller. They are silent as they watch him walk away.

The wolf in him, too, whines in submission, retreating within.

They travel down an incline and to a copse of trees, green beaded willows trailing on the path and the silver paper of birch trunks crumbling in the dryness of the month. The green smell of fresh water nearby draws Twilight’s eyes to a small, mirror-still pond lying silver and sparkling from the sun sailing overhead. There is magic in the air as there always is where nature focuses her beauty.

Hyrule, who has not faltered in his step, stops there and turns to face him. His eyes are serious now but there is little sign of the mistrust Twilight carefully searches for.

 _Will you not change back?_ He asks with his hands and Twilight considers for the first time what it would mean to do so. Is it possible? Perhaps, although that isn't really the point. The man he was, who he has spent the last months desperately trying to kill, is gone, his life left in smoky ruins behind him.

_Please?_

Twilight whines in sorrow. He can’t, he shouldn’t, it would only cause more harm to those he loved… loves. He tries to beg Hyrule to understand with a wolfish look alone.

The traveller seems disappointed but resigned for now as he lifts his hands up again.

 _The others… I’ve tried to speak to them, but they’re too protective. I forgive you, I know you must have had a reason, but they can’t see past your actions._ He lowers his head tiredly and Twilight watches with a sort of awe. How can someone be so kind… so forgiving? This boy before him is stronger than he will ever be.

_I think I’ve done all I can, but if you could just speak to them-_

He cuts him off with a growl, no words needed to remind him that there could not possibly be a worse idea. He is still reeling from the fact that Hyrule is here, alive, but that doesn’t change the fact he turned against those who trusted him, accepted him as their own. No, he made a promise to himself that he would curse himself to live the rest of his days as this _animal_ and he couldn’t… he couldn’t.

But there is that part of him, the part of him that has taken control once more that would still do anything for the boy he has scarred for life.

 _Please Twi. My voice is lost now. I tried to heal it, but it’s broken beyond repair. I just… want to know_ why _. I can’t argue with them properly, it’s… frustrating._

Broken beyond repair. _He_ did that. Hyrule will never speak again and it’s his fault. He can blame the world, blame Hylia, blame the misfortunes that fate handed to him, but it all comes down to his own choices in the end.

Something emerges from the mists of his soul. It looks for a purpose again, a future and a past; hope, and the small luxuries of life a wolf could never appreciate. It resigns itself to be locked in a cage of flesh and bone and crushing responsibility.

He has lived wild long enough.

_Twilight is naturally strong in both body and mind but the past week of no food, severe boredom and everlasting fear has left him in a less than favourable state. Still, whatever they want to torture out of him, whether it be information regarding his current travels or his own adventure, he knows he can withstand it. He has prepared himself for situations like these and he is confident in his resilience._

_The Blademaster sits him down in the chair and immediately gets to work in tying Twilight down with great precision. The care he takes in making sure the knots in the course rope are sturdy earns a slight smirk from the sleep-deprived Hylian, despite everything. Clearly, they know not to underestimate a hero of Hyrule._

_Whilst this is happening, another Yiga clan member sweeps into the room. She is elaborately dressed, more so than the regular members of the clan seen on the road in Wild’s Hyrule, with a headdress and long red and black robes, the familiar upside-down Sheikah symbol on the front. She wears no mask, but her face gives nothing away. Carefully styled hair frames her face in graceful grey curls and her face is one of those timeless enigmas. She could be twenty or sixty or perhaps both at the same time. The atmosphere changes in the room as she walks in and it is a testament to her power that even the Blademaster, twice the size of the elegant woman before him, lowers his head to greet her in respect._

_“The Hero of Twilight,” she says in a gravelly voice that suits her perfectly. It is not a question but a greeting of sorts._

_“You are a sly one to catch young Hylian, many of my men fell at you and your friend’s hands.” She walks slowly towards where he is now completely tied to the chair, helplessly at the mercy of these people he knows have been the cause of such strife. He notices her eyes are a dark red; fire against pale, unblemished skin._

_“But they are not here now, nor is your beloved imp.”_

_He seems to retreat back to his teenage years as panic claims him and his throat tightens. Words fail him but the look he gives her could kill alone. His restraints allow him no give._

_“Apologies for the wait, I had matters to attend to, but I ordered my men not to bring you harm over the past week. I trust my orders were followed without incident?”_

_There were times over the past days when he would have welcomed some outside interaction, even if it was from his tormentors. It would have been better than that utter seclusion and sensory deprivation._

_“I have been told you are the silent type. No matter, the business we have does not need your spoken word.” She pauses and turns to the Blademaster who is standing still and to attention at the side of the room._

_“I think it is time to bring out our guest, don’t you?” she asks him, and he nods once before leaving the room. Twilight wonders whether this guest might be the resident torturer of the building. Perhaps this woman, who seems to be their leader or at least high in the ranks, doesn’t like to get her hands dirty. He eyes the implements on the table, his jaw clenched, readying himself for what’s to come._

_“Oh, no,” says the woman, following his gaze, “those aren’t for you. We have a… different method, one we think will suit you rather better.”_

_“What do you want?” he implores through his teeth._

_“Ah, you do speak,” she says with a glistening white smile, “as for what I want, let us be polite and not start until our guest arrives.”_

_No sooner does she say that than the Blademaster returns, pulling a woman in tow. Her face is bloodied and fogged with terror but there is no doubting who she is._

_“Ilia,” he whispers, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach._

_“Link! Link, they’ve captured everyone, we tried to fight but there were-“_

_“Hush, girl.” the woman snaps. “As she said, Link, we have your home village under siege. If you do not do as we wish, we will slaughter every single one of them.”_

_Her tone is too cold, too straightforward for the words she is saying, and Twilight is trembling with fury and more terror than he has ever felt in his life._

_“What do you want?!” He says it louder this time, his desperation barely controlled in his trembling words. The woman smiles a smile that displays she knows she has won. Twilight would do just about anything in order to save his family._

_“I want you to kill the Hero of Hyrule.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience as I gradually get this story out! I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> Thank you as well for the comments last chapter, they made me laugh a lot though I am sorry for any emotional pain I may have caused leaving you on that cliffhanger :)


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